


There's More Where That Came From!

by stover



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Canon Compliant, Conspiracy Theories, Folktales, Gen, Kishotenketsu, Legends, NPCs - Freeform, Theorizing, Travel, Travelogue, What-If, myths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stover/pseuds/stover
Summary: Anyone who knew the Great Plateau and its majestic walls would know how much of a farce that was. How could a man descend such heights and survive, let alone be able to break in a wild horse and ride away? Amusing and fanciful though it was, the story of the Birdman of the Great Plateau was hogwash.---A series of one-shots exploring what it's like to live in the BOTW universe.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	There's More Where That Came From!

Every stable supplier had a trick to keep awake while carting their wares, and mine was unremarkably common: crafting stories of people and places I encountered. Though I was no Traysi, I was a decent enough storyteller that folks asked every now and then what new tale or rumor I’d picked up along the way. The path from Kakariko to the stables of Central Hyrule was well-traveled, so I would meet with all sorts of people across the kingdom. I’ve heard myths from Zora’s Domain and legends from the Gerudo Desert. I’ve heard stories of war from those coming from Fort Hateno and ghoulish rumors coming from deep in the Faron woods. I’d even heard talk about the legendary hero, who’d risen from his spelled slumber to free the Divine Beasts and slay the beast haunting Hyrule Castle. 

The best stories are always about the hero, but these come few and far between. Not many are left who remember the days long past, and the ones who do have already said their piece. Travelers sprout from all over to try and uncover our history, and of course, I gain my share of stories from them. But not all travelers are great storytellers. Some are half decent, but most think any story about themselves make for good fun, which isn’t always the case. And then there are those who have seen and done great things, but have a terrible way with words.

Take my most recent experience as example: I was approaching Outskirt Stable when I came to be in the company of a young traveler in blue with a rusting sword. After gifting him a better sword (I could not, in good conscious, let a young lad travel in the wild with such a sword), I spake with him a while and learned he had a story to share, one called _The Birdman of the Great Plateau._ It went like this:

_The stretch of land that made Hyrule Kingdom’s eastern fields lay untouched. Once, it had been a site favored by the Crown, a place for new paths to bring vitality into whatever small town or village sat in that open vastness that lay between the royal demesne and the Akkala citadel. Now, there lay only the rubble of some abandoned outpost and an unnamed ranch. Streaming alongside these ruins lay the Hylia River, its current fast and strong, traveling south, where it broke and emptied into the Lanayru wetlands or the tropics further south. Some small distance after the river split was the only safehouse known for miles: the Riverside Stable. This was the place that had once housed the only man to have lived in the Great Plateau since the fall of the Old Kingdom: a man who had flown through the sky like a bird and touched ground, charmed a wild horse and rode it three days up the river to the stable, where he stayed two days before disappearing, never to be heard from again._

I was disappointed upon hearing the tale, for the titular Birdman was mentioned only in passing. The young traveler, however, took immense joy in sharing the tale, watching my face carefully as he spoke, so I feigned great interest all throughout his telling to heighten his resolve, because I knew what it meant to have a passion that did not yet bear fruit. As soon as we parted, I decided the story was not worth remembering, and thought it would drift from my mind.

The story seemed to have a mind of its own, however, for as I went along my path and saw the Great Plateau rising up in the distance, I couldn’t help but recall it. I thought on it night and day, wondering where along the broken heights of the stone fortress the man could have alighted, and where on the fields below he landed. Though I imagined many a path from the Plateau to the field, twice almost losing my cart to moblins (I am an easily distracted man), the more I thought of the story of the birdman, the more I noticed it’s glaring incongruities.

I knew the land between the Riverside Stable and the Great Plateau, for it was one I took daily to deliver the goods each stable required from nearby villages. As such, I knew that even the slowest beast could make the journey in a day—two days, if need be, for injuries or the misfortune of fixing a damaged cart. But three days was unnecessary; not one traveler wanted to be out in the wild for longer than was necessary, for it was dangerous to go alone. 

Here, the common interjection I imagined I’d receive if I disputed this account was that suppose the man had been injured on his way down. But anyone who knew the Great Plateau and its majestic walls would know how much of a farce that was. How could a man descend such heights and survive, let alone be able to break in a wild horse and ride away? Amusing and fanciful though it was, the story of the Birdman of the Great Plateau was hogwash.

“You think so? Hm… You know what, let’s ask Parcy.”

I was breaking fast with my good friend, Pikango, on the morning after I arrived at Riverside Stable, the two of us pleased to reunite in good weather that allowed us to enjoy the scenic riverfront by the stable. We had only spoken for a brief time when he asked what new things I’d heard since we’d last spoken, and I shared with him the story of the Birdman of the Great Plateau, as well as my many laments for it. Though he’d never heard of the story himself, Pikango was intrigued, and at once thought to ask Parcy. 

Parcy was a fellow traveler who’d taken residence at the Riverside Stable in recent years. A daredevil at heart, she’d explored the ruins of the castlegrounds and beyond, which she proves with her extensive knowledge of how to get into the castle relatively unharmed. I respected her experience, and even more so her shrewd ability to discern fact from myth. I thought it good to ask her what she thought about the likelihood of a man descending from the Great Plateau.

“Oh, that guy. Yeah, I know all about him. Saw him here two days ago.”

I blinked owlishly. _“Saw_ him?” 

“Yeah, he comes by pretty often. For some reason, he always stinks—worse than moblin guts, I’d say. You ever got a good whiff of moblin entrails? Not something you’d forget, trust me. Smells like—”

“Yes, yes, I know what it smells like,” I interrupted. “Forgive me, Parcy, but there’s something I don’t quite understand. You’ve _seen_ this… Birdman?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him that. He’s just a normal guy. Sort of weird, but a good guy overall.”

“Then, the story’s true?”

Parcy cocked her head. “What story?”

“Of the man!” I cried.

“Which man?”

_“The Birdman of the Great Plateau!”_

Parcy stepped back, scowling. “No need to yell, old man. And I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve never heard that story before.”

“You just said you saw the man!” I lamented.

Parcy scowled. ”I said I saw the man from the Great Plateau. But he was no bird or... birdman. Just a regular guy.”

“Hold on,” Pikango said, frowning thoughtfully. “In a land as vast as Hyrule, one story may have many names. If you don’t mind, Parcy, may we tell you a story?”

Parcy assented, and I recounted the story the way it was told to me. Upon the end, I was hardly struck by the discontented look on her face.

“That’s it?” she demanded. “What happened to the rest of it?”

“There’s no more.”

Parcy laughed. “You call that a story?”

“It’s not _my_ story,” I said defensively. “It was told to me by a young traveler. I met him on the way to the Outskirt Stable.”

“Huh.” Parcy adopted a thoughtful look. “He had on a blue tunic?”

I thought on it. “I think so.”

“Did he have yellow hair? A blue piercing in his right ear?”

Surprised, I nodded. “Has he come by here, too?”

Parcy grinned. “Sure has.”

“When?” 

“Like I said, exactly two days ago. Goes by the name Link. And now, I guess—” Parcy laughed. “—the Birdman of the Great Plateau.”


End file.
